Teacher's Pet
by GazingAbyss
Summary: Josh is shocked by a confession from Prof. Radisson that completely changes the nature of their debate.
1. Chapter 1

Applause, slow and sarcastic and from a single source, came from above. The last of my fellow students had already left, and there was only one person I knew who could somehow put disdain into the sound of his hands clapping. Professor Radisson.

Still tucking my laptop into my backpack, I looked up to where my supposed teacher was strolling through an upper level of the lecture hall, his fingers steepled. "Lies, lies and more lies," he said, the corner of his lip twitching up.

"It's easy to dismiss what you don't understand," I replied, hoping against all hope that this time – maybe this one time – Radisson would actually listen to what I was saying instead of automatically rejecting without a moment's consideration. "Or what you don't want to understand."

"There it is," Radisson smirked. "The default setting of the Bible thumper. If only you'd open the Scripture and read," he mimed opening a book, a parody of a beatific smile on his face, "then you would understand."

_If only he knew_, I thought.

As soon as I thought it, Radisson closed his hands with a snap – the same way he closed his mind. "So says the brave young freshman. For thou art wise and with you, all wisdom shall die. Job twelve, verse two."

I studied my shoes, the breath almost knocked out of me. God's words from Radisson's lips… The thought unsettled me, making my stomach flip-flop.

"What else does Job tell us?" Radisson was asking before I could recover enough to respond. "For man, who was born of woman, is few of days and full of trouble. He comes forth like a shadow and does not continue, so man lies down and does not rise until the heavens are no more." Radisson let out a dry laugh. "Well, at least he got that part right." He cocked his head, studying me, I was sure, for any cracks in my armour. "During your little statement, when you quoted Hawking and told me there was no need for my class," Radisson continued, peering at me intently, "Did you have any idea how much I wanted to bend you over my desk and take you in front of the whole class?"

Radisson's tone hadn't changed, and his words hit my nervous system before my brain, sending a freezing jolt through my stomach half a second before my brain reeled. I stared up at Radisson, eyes wide, my mouth open in a slight gasp, replaying the last few moments over and over. He couldn't have said what I thought he'd said, meant the words that spilled from his lips – the same lips that had just quoted Scripture.

"No?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he sauntered down the steps toward me. "No, I suppose something like that wouldn't occur to a good little altar boy."

"I, uh…" I pulled on the zipper to my backpack, trying to yank it shut. In my hurry it bit into the fabric, stopping dead. "I gotta go." With one final yank I managed to get the knapsack closed halfway. Good enough.

"So soon?" Radisson smirked, going back to his default expression. "And I was just starting to enjoy our repartee."

I flung my bag over my shoulder. "I really have to – " Textbooks and binders and loose leaves of paper fell from my bag, scattering across the floor. Not thinking, I immediately knelt to gather my things.

Radisson strolled by as I tried to shove a wad of my notes into my bag, leaving a clear footprint across a sheet of lined paper. Furious, I snapped my gaze up to him, only to notice what I was eye level to. Pausing to savour the moment, Radisson smirked down at me again.

And then, just like that, he walked away, oblivious to – or ignoring – my eyes glaring into his back. He reached his desk and turned, leaning casually against it. I couldn't even look at the desk without thinking about… Without thinking about what Radisson had said.

I trained my eyes downward, focussing on the task at hand, my face hot. "So I guess you weren't going to give me a hand?" I asked with more venom than I'd meant to.

"You blew any chance at help from me on day one," he answered, watching me. "Besides, I thought you liked being on your knees."

My hand fell across one of the philosophy textbooks I'd scrounged from the library, the same one Kara had caught me reading in preparation for my clash with Radisson. They'd spilled from my knapsack then, too, tipping her off to my extracurricular activity.

"Please tell me you haven't me spending all your time on that philosophy thing," she had pleaded with me.

"Not all of it."

She hadn't been impressed.

"Okay," I had admitted. "Most of it."

Kara hadn't been able to accept that this was something I had to do. She couldn't accept that my faith was worth any risk. Instead, she'd told me to prioritize. "Decide who's the most important person in your life," she'd demanded. "Me, or Professor Radisson."

I'd laughed then, but now, with Kara gone and Radisson smugly watching me from his desk, it didn't seem so funny. She'd warned me and I hadn't listened. A voice at the back of my mind wondered if this was what I'd deserved before I could push it away. Kara told me to make my choice and I'd chosen. Maybe I'd asked for this.

Finally the floor was clear, all my books shoved into my bag and tamped down until I could close the zipper. This time I wouldn't be closing it halfway. I carefully slung the bag over my back, not taking any chances. I stood to leave, but before I could turn, Radisson was there, inches away.

"I need to – " I started.

"I know," Radisson cut me off, and then his mouth was on mine.

Shock slammed into me at the sensation of his tongue, pressing, probing, exploring. Like a speck of dust trapped in the suction of a vacuum cleaner, I was pulled forward, unable to fight. My mind went blank, my head reeled. Heat pounded through my body as my heart hammered against my ribs. Everything seemed to disappear. Everything except Radisson.

With a start I realized the world was gone because my eyes were closed. They snapped open in a deer-in-headlights stare and I pushed away from Radisson, stumbling back a few steps.

Radisson still watched me. His expression seemed changed and unchanged at the same time, now laced with satisfaction. My jaw hung open in shock. Without another word, without even bothering to close my mouth, I bolted from the lecture hall.


	2. Chapter 2

My eyes burned like they wanted to escape my head. The sensation went away when I closed them, and it was so tempting to close them, but every time I did, I the scene played out again. Radisson, smirking, then leering, then… Lunging.

I forced my eyes open again, ignoring the pain, studying the grain of the desk in front of me. I hadn't slept all night, and now everything looked like a bed. Even when I'd tried to make the best of a bad situation, using my sleeplessness to work on my case, the uneasy feeling refused to leave, looming over me like my impending academic suicide.

Maybe Radisson will take pity on me after – I tried to push the thought away – last night? I doubted it.

"Mr. Wheaton?" Radisson's voice broke into my reverie. I jumped, startled.

His tone told me it hadn't been the first time he'd called my name. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at me, but only his bored into me, still probing for any cracks in my faith. I shook myself again, trying to let my conviction in what I was about to do take over, like it had the other two times. No such luck.

At the podium, I plugged in my laptop and started my presentation.

"The question of, uh, of evil," I started, my mouth dry. "Or, to put it another way, why does evil exist? I mean, God made everything so he also made evil, and why he would do that is, um, a good question."

From his perch near the back of the lecture theatre, Radisson leaned forward, arching one eyebrow.

"God made us. He made us so we could be evil. So that we could choose to be evil. I mean," I started again, wishing I could erase what I had just said with what I had meant to say. "He made us so we could make the choice to be evil, or to be good. So we could have free will. Because we can't choose to be good unless we can also choose to be evil."

Radisson steepled his fingers in front of him. I had done nothing wrong last night, I reminded myself, since I hadn't chosen what had happened, hadn't done anything, really.

It had been so different when I kissed Kara. So much more... Pure.

We shouldn't have given in to any temptation, we both knew that, but it hadn't been like everyone had said. I'd always been able to stop myself when I had to, even when Kara didn't have the restraint. I knew Kara was usually disappointed, but she had needed my guidance.

I'd always felt so in control with her, like I could stop any time I wanted. But when Radisson had kissed me I lost my strength. My head had swum and the world spun into confusing chaos. I shook myself, promising I'd never have to go through that again.

Whispers broke through my train of thought. The class. They were leaning over to each other, wondering what I was doing, frowning. I was losing them. Behind me, the unbelievably slick graphics and animations, the ones I had worked on all night, continued through my points, hitting the same beats I thought I'd be able to keep up with when I'd programmed them.

The rest of my argument was a blur. By the end of the class, the effort it took to maintain focus felt monumental. But I made it. The scattered applause as I finished wasn't what I had hoped for, but it was the end, and at that point, it was good enough. I was done.

I tried to pack up as quickly as I could, to leave with the first wave of students rushing to the next class. To get lost in the crush. To not have to come into contact with Radisson. I ducked beneath the podium to release my laptop's cable from the tangle of cords. My shaking hands somehow produced more knots, and it was a minute before I was free.

_There_, I thought, trying to reassure myself. _That didn't take that long_. I stood to be confronted by an empty classroom.

Empty, except for one man.

"What?" I glared up at him, defiant. "You want to tell me that you won? That you told me so?" A disgusting thought passed through my mind. "You want to tell me what you were thinking while I was up there?"

"Get off your cross, altar boy," Radisson rolled his eyes.

Clarity flashed through my mind. I knew Radisson was devious, but I hadn't see the true scope of it. "You… You did that on purpose didn't you?"

"Did what?" he asked innocently.

"Kissing me," I spat. "You knew that would distract me."

At first, Radisson's expression was pure, blank confusion. Then, all at once, his face split with mirth and he threw his head back in laughter. "Is that what you think? That I couldn't possibly express interest without an ulterior motive? Or maybe you think that I'd have to be irredeemably evil to want to do something like… that."

"Not to want to do it," I shot back. "I have nothing against sinners, even if I hate the sin."

"The sin?" Radisson repeated, his amusement melting into sympathy. "They really did a number on you in Sunday school, didn't they?"

I steeled myself. "You're just trying to confuse me."

Radisson shook his head wistfully. "Tell you what. I'll give you a chance at passing my class if you're willing to accept some… extracurriculars."

"What kind of extracurriculars?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Nothing beyond discussing philosophy," Radisson raised his hands in mock defeat. "We both know you're behind, and you don't have a chance of catching up. But let's say we talk about my favourite subject between classes, and I count it as an," he raised an eyebrow, "Oral exam?"

"Oh yeah?" I challenged him. "And what if I don't like where these conversations are going?"

Radisson shrugged. "Your drop date isn't until the 22nd, correct? That gives us time for at least one private meeting. If you're still against it after that, you can drop the course. If not…" He shrugged again.

My pulse pounding, I squared my shoulders against the atheist. There was no risk talking to him, not when I was sure of my beliefs. _If anything, _I told myself,_ he was the one who should be nervous_. "Fine. When?"


	3. Chapter 3 - Epicurus

I hadn't had any time to go out since I'd started school, but if I had, the Garden wouldn't have been my first choice. It was a far cry from the campus pub, with its inexpensive, greasy food and two-dollar shots – not that I drank shots, but I could appreciate a burger dripping with American cheese, surrounded by freedom fries. Not so much the fancy cuisine at the Garden.

And yet, here I was. My heart sank as I took in the deep crimson of the silk tablecloths, the dark wood the tables were made from, the fountain behind the granite bar, cascading over a rough stone wall. "Couldn't we have met in your office?" I groaned. "There's no way I can afford to eat here."

"Do you have any idea what a professor makes at a secular college, Mr. Wheaton?" Radisson asked.

"No."

Radisson grinned. "Don't worry about it. Trust me." A waitress in a black cocktail dress that ended high above her knees beckoned us forward, two menus in her hand. "There's a reason why I chose this place," Radisson added, motioning for me to go first.

I slid into the corner booth, feeling self-conscious as the waitress draped a napkin across my legs. I definitely wasn't used to being served hand and foot. It wasn't a comfortable position, at least not for me.

"Thank you," Radisson nodded to the waitress as she arranged his napkin the same way as mine.

She gave a pert nod in response. "Can I start you off with drinks?"

"A bottle of '85 Bordeaux," Radisson replied. "And two glasses."

"Just water for me," I corrected.

"I'll be right back," the waitress giggled. I watched her leave, knowing whose order she'd pay attention to in pursuit of tips.

"I don't drink," I told Radisson.

"You'll enjoy this."

"Why are we here again?"

Radisson fixed me with an appraising stare. "Have you ever heard the term Epicurean before?"

"No," I shook my head.

"I thought not." Glancing down, he fiddled with his silverware, rearranging the utensils ever so slightly. "Most people now think it refers to love of food – essentially making it synonymous with gourmand – but it's actually a school of philosophy started in ancient Greece by Epicurus."

"Let me guess," I rolled my eyes. "Another atheist?"

"He wasn't a Christian, if that's what you mean. He lived well before the birth of Christ, or at least," Radisson backpedalled, "before your primitive superstitions say Christ existed."  
>"So, what, he believed in Zeus?"<p>

"Along with the rest of the Greek pantheon, although he didn't really worship them. Epicurus taught that we can't make assumptions about the nature of reality, and so the only thing he said humanity knew about the gods is that they were unknowable. Basically that they worked in mysterious ways," Radisson waved his fingers. "Ah, here we are."

The waitress had returned with a tray glittering with crystal. She placed one wine glass in front of Radisson and another in front of me before setting a decanter full of blood red wine between us. "The '85 Bordeaux," she said, "and 'just water'," she finished, placing a sweating glass of ice water in front of me with a wink.

I sighed internally. She thought she was being cute, but she had no idea how serious my situation was.

"Are we ready to order?" she asked, directing the question to Radisson. She definitely knew where her tip was coming from.

Radisson rattled off a list of dishes, half the words in French or some other language I didn't recognize. The waitress nodded, not even taking notes as I tried to follow the rapid-fire syllables. My head was spinning by the time it was over and the waitress was hustling away.

"Now, there's a reason Epicurus' name became associated with food," Radisson continued as if uninterrupted, picking up the decanter. To my surprise, he snatched up my wine glass first, filling it before I could protest and then moving on to his own glass. "It's a little reductive, but there is a reason." He lifted his wine to the light, swirling it to paint the glass with a gloss of red that separated into thick tears and then slowly dripped back down into the bowl. "Epicurus teaches us that the highest good is pleasure."

Eyeing the wine suspiciously, I asked, "Doesn't that make him a hedonist?"

"One man's hedonism is another's contentment," Radisson shrugged. "Epicureans stressed taking joy in simple pleasures, chief among those, friendship. That, and avoiding pain." He took a swift swig of his drink. "Of course, enjoying the finer things doesn't hurt either. You may as well try it," Radisson added, nodding at my still-untouched glass. "It's probably the most expensive wine you'll ever get a chance to taste."

A rich aroma hit me as the waitress reappeared, expertly balancing four plates piled high with food on her arms. Again she set one in front of me and one in front of Radisson, but the other two went between us.

"This is way too much," I said as the waitress headed off once more.

"I beg to differ," Radisson shook his head, cutting into a thick steak. He took a bite and then a sip of wine, rolling both across his tongue. "You really should try the Bordeaux. You don't know what you're missing."

"Thanks," I muttered, sinking deep into my seat.

"Quit moping, altar boy. How about a toast?" He raised his glass. With a sigh, I did the same. "In the words of Epicurus, it is impossible to live a pleasant life without living well." Our glasses touched with a pure chime, and Radisson shot me an evil grin. "Now you have to drink. It's bad luck not to, after a toast, and I know how you like your superstitions."

I took a hesitant sip of the thick, too-sweet liquid. This was going to be a long night.

Hello to everyone who's been reading! Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put this story on hiatus for November, since NaNoWriMo is starting and I've got some silly bullshit to write about androids, existential crises, and Mickey Mouse. To everyone who's been enjoying this so far, hang tight, I do plan on coming back in December!

-GazingAbyss


	4. Chapter 4

The taste of cherries was still on my tongue as I trudged home. Since the restaurant was so far from campus – and my dorm – Radisson had offered me a ride, but the mouthful of wine I'd drank was making my brain sluggish and strange, and the cool night air had seemed like the perfect cure. Now though, I could feel my foot developing a blister, and the cap to the meal – cherries jubilee which had been brought, flaming, to the table – made the evening with my philosophy professor seem… Not good, but not so bad. Not so bad that it was worth this walk just to avoid making the night any longer.

I sighed, glancing up from the pavement to see a house I recognized. In my slow-acting mind, it took a few seconds for thoughts to connect, and I was halfway down the block before I realized how close I was to Reverend Dave's church. I grinned, not even aware I was doing it. Reverend Dave would definitely be a welcome sight. I turned a corner, taking the detour to the comforting stone edifice of the church.

As soon as I started to climb the steps to the entrance, I wondered if maybe this was a mistake. It was late, and I could always come back in the morning. _No, not morning,_ I corrected myself,_ I had a philosophy class._ The massive oak door in front of me was inviting, swinging inward with the gentlest of touches. Even if Reverend Dave wasn't around, the atmosphere would be comforting, and I needed a place to rest and right myself. I found a seat in a pew near the back and bowed my head, taking in the smell of incense mixed with wood, soaked into every inch of the church from thousands of services.

I was so wrapped up in every feeling of the old building that I didn't notice that I wasn't alone. Not until the pew creaked beside me. I glanced over. Reverend Dave was sitting next to me, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes raised, but looking past the cross above us.

"Restless night?" Reverend Dave asked without looking over.

I gave a snort of either laughter or frustration. "You could say that."

"You want to talk about it?"

"It's just… To try to salvage this semester, Professor Radisson said he'd… I don't know, tutor me, I guess."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be, but it's really weird."

"Weird," Dave repeated, trying out the word. "That's not such a bad thing. Things can be weird if we've never tried them before, but sometimes something no one's tried before can save the world. I'm sure a lot of people thought Jesus was a little weird."

"It's not that, it's just…" I trailed off. How could I explain the cacophony of feelings running through me, the mix of so many emotions that I wasn't sure I could identify even one? Every time I thought I'd pulled one from the bunch so I could think about it, I would find another thread connecting it to some other, new feeling. I was so confused. "We went to this fancy restaurant," I started, trying to find a way to explain the strangeness to Dave. "He gave me a glass of wine. I'm not sure I should've been drinking that."

"Jesus isn't against wine," Dave reminded me. "He gave it to His apostles. But if it makes you uncomfortable, it isn't cool."

"That's not really it," I said. "It just didn't seem appropriate. He wasn't really treating me like a student. I mean, he was and he wasn't, but – "

"Maybe that's a good sign," Reverend Dave suggested. "Maybe some barriers are breaking down between you, and maybe he'll be more accepting of your beliefs."

"But I'm not sure I want those barriers to break down. I mean, I know God wants me to be accepting," I tried, "But I don't know if I can stand to be around Professor Radisson."

"I know where you're coming from," Dave said, putting an arm around my shoulders. "A lot of people, they can feel like such a drain on you. But some of those people drain your energy because they need it. You have to look after yourself first, but if it helps you be strong, remember that Jesus hung out with lepers and Mary Magdalene."

I smiled. The warm weight of Reverend Dave's arm wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, reassuring and restoring me. "Thanks."

"Any time," Dave returned my smile.

The weariness of the night seemed to wash away, and I sank into the pew as my muscles relaxed, leaning toward the form of Reverend Dave. My neck nestled into his shoulder, finding support in the bow of his arm. I was so relaxed I thought I could sleep right there, my eyes closing, my head finding a pillow on Dave's body.

"Hey," Dave grinned at me. "How much wine have you had?"

I rubbed my eye. "Only a glass."

Reverend Dave considered me for a long moment, a slight smile on his lips. "I think you'd better get to bed. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

For a moment, my spirits sank. The church, Reverend Dave, the presence of God – it was all so comforting. But Dave's offer of a ride, unlike Radisson's, was one I was glad to accept.

* * *

><p>Hello, all! Thanks for all the great reviews, it's nice to know you guys are enjoying yourselves as much as I am. As promised, I have ended my month-long hiatus for Novel Writing Month (with a grand total of 54K words) so expect weekly(ish) updates.<p>

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5 - Nietzsche

This time, I chose the venue for my tutoring session with Radisson. This time we weren't going to some fancy restaurant where I had no idea how to act. We weren't even leaving campus.

I sat down at the cafeteria table with a paper cup full of coffee, digging my notebook out of my bag as I waited for Professor Radisson to show up. No food, just the drink. It sent a clear message – down to business. No sitting around savouring a meal. Just an academic discussion over coffee. I'd even managed to convince Radisson to let me pick the topic, I thought with some satisfaction as I flipped through my notes.

"Nietzsche? Really?" he asked as he slid into the seat across from me. I looked up with a start to realize he also had a single coffee in his hand. He must have scoped me out as I was sitting down, getting almost the same thing. Or was I starting to judge as closely as he did?

I grinned. "I thought you would like it."

"Oh, I'm not opposed," Radisson shrugged, "I just get the feeling you're only bringing it up in order to flog your favourite dead horse."

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour. Not that Radisson was my neighbour, but still. "We'll get to that," I replied.

"Fair enough," Radisson smiled, apparently enjoying himself. He didn't make a move to continue – start, really – the discussion.

I suffered under his smug gaze for a few moments before I finally said, "Can we get started? I have a class in less than an hour."

That was true. It was why I'd chosen this particular time for our meeting. It set a defined boundary on how much time we could spend together today, and how we could interact.

"Well then," Radisson maintained his smile. "On to business. At his core, Nietzsche was an existentialist. A nihilist, if you want to get even more specific. If existentialism starts with the question, 'what is meaning in an apparently meaningless world?', nihilism answers by saying 'there is none'. Basically that all human life is meaningless in the grand scheme of things."

"How can you believe that?" I asked, sickened at the idea. "Are you that cynical?"

"It's all a matter of perspective," Radisson shrugged, completely immune to my distress. "Let's say, as a hypothetical, you're wrong. That there is no God, and we're all the product of billions of years of evolution. We're just the lucky moss covering a big rock as it hurtles through space. Not only that, but there are countless other rocks, and so much space between them that it would take thousands of years to get to another galaxy, even if we could go at the exact speed limit of the universe. Nothing any single human can do in their lifetime would ever offset the motions of the planets or have an effect on anything outside the limits of our own tiny solar system. That," Radisson raised an index finger, leaning into his statement, "Is the essence of meaninglessness."

"But God is real," I replied. His words may have been impassioned, but he'd started them by pointing out the flaw in his own argument.

"But what if He wasn't?" he asked impotently.

"But He is."

He heaved a huge sigh in defeat. "I know you think that," he pressed, fatigue creeping into his voice – were the flaws in his logic starting to wear on him? – "And I'm not asking you to say He doesn't exist. I'm asking you to imagine, for one second, a universe where there isn't a God."

"So you're saying," I leaned forward, "Without God, all human life is meaningless?"

"This isn't about my philosophy, it's about Nietzsche's."

"But you agree with it," I pointed out.

"On parts, yes," Radisson snapped. "If we're going to get into my philosophy, fine. Nietzsche, along with every other existential nihilist, was right that human life has no meaning from a completely objective perspective. But guess what, I have a subjective perspective, just like every other human, and I gotta say, my life has meaning to me. Happy?"

This was exactly what I wanted to hear. "So you agree with Nietzsche?"

"Yes," Radisson sighed.

"And you know he was a Nazi, right?"

Radisson's shoulders slumped. His face slackened as his eyes stared at me blankly. "A Nazi? As in a member of the National Socialist Party that didn't exist until 1920, despite having died in 1900?"

"Well, okay, maybe not literally, technically a Nazi," I argued, "But they used a lot of his ideas."

"Actually, that's a common misconception," Radisson told me. "The works the Nazis took as inspiration were highly edited, mostly by Nietzsche's sister, after his death. This was the same sister who he disowned after she married an anti-Semite."

"Wait," I paused. I hadn't expected the conversation to go this way. "Really?" At a nod from Radisson, I went on. "Yeah, but there were ideas there that were easy for them to use," I pointed out. "And you have to admit that a belief that life is meaningless would make it easier to justify hurting people."

Radisson opened his mouth to respond, but it wasn't his voice that I heard say, "Well, well, isn't this interesting."

I glanced up to see Kara standing beside the table, hands on her hips, her expression unimpressed. "What?" she asked. "Didn't get enough of him in class?"

"Hold on a second, Kara," I pleaded, "This isn't what it looks like!"

Radisson smiled innocently, leaning back in his plastic cafeteria chair to watch. "Now I'm curious what this looks like."

It looked like a student and a professor meeting. That was all. And that was all it was.

"I'm just getting tutoring," I told Kara. "Just so I can catch up."

"After all that," she crossed her arms and smirked. "After all that 'I choose God' stuff, Mr. Conviction ends up sucking up for points."

"Actually, Professor Radisson suggested it," I replied. "He wanted to help me catch up."

Kara glanced at Radisson with a frown.

"What can I say?" he shrugged. "That's just the kind of guy I am."

"Whatever," Kara rolled her eyes. "I got class." With a flick of her long blond hair, she was flouncing her way between the cafeteria tables. We watched her leave, until Radisson slowly turned back to me.

"I choose God?" he repeated with disbelief and a grin.

I was already getting up. "I gotta go after her."

* * *

><p>New life goal: Someday I swear I'll be able to spell Nietzsche on the first try without consulting a spell-checker or Google.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

"Kara!" I called as I raced through the cafeteria, almost tripping on a backpack, sidestepping it to almost run directly into a tray piled high with food.

"I don't want to talk to you," she tossed back over her shoulder.

"Kara, wait, I want to explain!" Explain what, I wasn't sure. Like Kara had said, I'd made my choice. I couldn't be with someone who didn't respect that. And yet, here I was, having a friendly – in appearance, anyway – conversation with Professor Radisson. But that was only because of the choice I'd made to defend God. The choice I'd made between my faith and our relationship. Kara already knew that. Why did I feel a need to explain it all over again?

"Explain what?" Kara whirled around, echoing my own thoughts. "Are you going to explain to me why standing up for your beliefs was more important to you than I was a few days ago, but now it's not important at all? Or maybe you're gonna explain why you're more interested in spending time with Professor Radisson than me."

Her words stung, and I flinched from their venom. "It's not like that," I told her. "I've been given another chance. Radisson, he – he's not as unreasonable as I thought." Kara's eyes lit up and then darkened again as I spoke. "I think I can help him see the light."

Kara shook her head, sending blond curls bouncing around her face. "Why is this suddenly so important to you? Since when have you been such a crusader?"

"Everyone who accepts Jesus Christ as their saviour should be a crusader," I said with a frown. "It's our duty to help bring as much of our fellow man to Christ's glory as we can."

"So this is, what, your new project?" Kara crossed her arms and scoffed.

"It's not a project," I protested, "It's just who I am."

"Oh, so that's it then," Kara rolled her eyes. "It's all about your needs again."

"Not mine," I shook my head. "God's."

With a scoff, Kara stepped back. "Fine then."

"Fine."

Neither of us made a move to leave.

"That's just great, Josh. Good for you."

I shrugged, giving her the last words. She wasn't satisfied with that.

"I really hope, when you're having your little talks with Professor Radisson, you really feel as much better than everyone else as you think you are. You're such a saint, you deserve it."

"Thanks," I muttered. I wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but more than that, I wanted this conversation to end. Kara's fickleness, her reluctance to stand by my faith had killed the feelings I'd had left over for her to the point that I didn't even want to be around her anymore.

"I'm sure you two'll be really happy together," Kara snorted.

"I'm sure we will," I shot back.

With a sigh, Kara finally left, storming out of the cafeteria. I echoed her sigh, the tension leaving my shoulders. There wasn't much time left before I had to go to class, but I turned around anyway to return to the table where I'd left Radisson – and found myself face-to-face with my philosophy professor.

"Well," he smirked. "That got a little ugly. Can't say I've ever seen a faith-based break-up before."

"We broke up a week ago," I corrected him.

"So today was only burning the bridge you already crossed?" Radisson raised an eyebrow.

I was going to contradict him, but decided against it. He wasn't wrong here. "Looks like it. Can we not talk about this?"

Radisson shrugged. "Fair enough. But I think next time we should meet somewhere where we aren't going to be… Interrupted."

"Fine," I said, feeling like I was talking to Kara again. One word answers, just to get it over with.

"And I think I like this little back-and-forth. I pick a topic, you pick a topic…" he mused. "That would make it my turn next."

"Alright."

"Perfect," Radisson grinned. "I already have something in mind."

* * *

><p>Has anyone else noticed that the description of this story calls Radisson Rattigan? I was too lazy to try and change the spelling of that, so instead, please replace Kevin Sorbo in your mind with a talking rat who sounds like Vincent Price.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7 - Diogenes

"Where are we going?" I asked, as I popped open the door to Professor Radisson's car. The sleek vehicle had just driven up to the public park that I thought was supposed to be the site of our session. Apparently it was just our meeting place before we went somewhere else.

"I've got something to show you," Radisson said casually as I buckled myself in and he peeled away from the curb, heedless of the small children bouncing a ball on the sidewalk nearby. "You're gonna love it." He flashed me a smirk. "Trust me."

Not much chance of that happening, but it looked like I was along for the ride. For now, at least.

"So, what are we talking about today?" I asked as Radisson zoomed down residential streets.

"I thought we'd talk about Diogenes," he replied. "You know, since I'm such a cynic."

"And I'm guessing Diogenes was a huge cynic too."

"The original cynic." He considered that for a moment. "Well, actually that would be Antisthenes, but Diogenes was the first to take the philosophy to its logical conclusion."

I rolled my eyes. "Great."

"You might actually like it more than you think," Radisson told me as he took a sharp left. "The original use of the word cynic, or cynicism, is nothing like the modern term. Ancient Greek cynics believed that the only way to live a happy life was to be totally virtuous, which to the Greeks meant to live in accordance with nature."

"So, what, they lived off the land?"

"Some of them," Radisson nodded. "They preached self-sufficiency. Not to mention asceticism - they didn't own anything that didn't have value in nature. No money, no property, just the basics they needed to survive. Of course, Diogenes himself practised that lifestyle by living on the streets and begging for food."

Did Radisson admire Diogenes? Radisson, who enjoyed expensive wine and sumptuous meals and fast cars? I would never have thought he'd agree with that kind of belief system - which would have put us on common ground, for once. "That doesn't seem like a great philosophy," I observed, wondering where this conversation could be going. "I mean, aside from the fact that it sounds like Diogenes was just lazy, how many people can do something like that before nothing works anymore?"

Radisson chuckled.

"What?"

"Sorry. It's just weird to hear you independently come up with a utilitarian argument. Anyways, Diogenes' lifestyle may have been extreme," he shrugged, "But he did it to call attention to the parts of society he considered unnatural. Which would have been all of it."

"All of it?" I repeated. "What, was he an anarchist or something?"

"First of all, anarchism isn't what you think it is," Radisson raised a finger to count off his arguments. "But that's a long tangent. Second of all, Diogenes thought, quite correctly, that, as animals, things like law and manners don't come naturally to us, no matter how much we may take them for granted."

"We aren't animals," I protested.

"I assure you, I am," Radisson replied with a wolfish grin, his voice lowering into an almost-growl.

"Well I'm not."

"Then where would you classify yourself in the tree of life?" he asked. "Plantae? Fungi? Perhaps you think of yourself as a particularly talkative, ambulatory species of bacteria?"  
>"What are you talking about?"<p>

"Basic biology. Not that it matters," Radisson shrugged, guiding the car into an underground garage below an apartment complex. "The point is, Diogenes lived like an animal in order to illustrate what he saw as the true state of mankind."

Now was my chance. I saw a crack I could probe into. "And if you think of yourself as an animal," I argued, "Isn't it hypocritical not to do the same?"

Professor Radisson slid into the parking space and shut down the purring engine, taking the key from the ignition. "What can I say?" he asked. "I like my creature comforts." He started to get out of the car.

"Wait, where are we?" I asked, hurriedly getting out and chasing after him between the rows of parked cars, most quite a bit older, cheaper, or beat-up than Radisson's.

Radisson pulled open a glass door that led to two elevators, holding it open for me. "We're going to an apartment I use for work," he explained.

"An apartment?" I repeated, my mind searching for an explanation. "But… Does your wife know about this?"

Following behind me and then hitting the call button for the elevator, Professor Radisson shot me an amused look. "Of course," he said. "In fact, she insisted. She thought it would be safer if I didn't have to drive all the way home when I have to spend a late night marking."

"Oh."

"That, and we've found it's better for our marriage if I don't…" he searched for the appropriate words for a few seconds, "Take work home with me."

"Alright." That seemed like a good enough explanation. And I was already riding in the elevator, up to the thirteenth floor. And, even if I made a hasty excuse and left, I didn't think I could antagonize Professor Radisson more than I already had in the past few weeks. If things got weird, I could always leave, I reassured myself, talking myself into following Radisson down the hall. "What -" I started, and then cleared my throat, steeling myself to strengthen my voice. "What did you want to show me?" I finally asked as Radisson turned the key, unlocking the apartment.

He merely grinned, and pushed the door open. It swung inward to reveal a small room filled with cheap furniture that had probably been obtained by the side of the road, if the stuffing erupting from part of the sofa was any indication. In the middle of it all, sitting on a scuffed, bland Ikea coffee table, was a massive, ancient looking tome.

"Is that what I think it is?" I asked, stepping forward almost in a daze.

"Indeed it is," Radisson nodded.

"But, how?" I sputtered. "Why?"

"Because I can," Radisson shrugged. "My privileges as a tenured Professor allow me to check it out of the university library. And I thought you'd get a kick out of it."

The school's copy of the Gutenberg Bible. A copy of the holy word that had been read for centuries, to thousands, maybe millions of people - and the perfect first use of the printing press. "This is amazing," I breathed.

"Of course, this isn't one of the complete ones," Radisson shrugged again, oblivious to the gravity of the artifact, not to mention my complete and utter awe at it. "There aren't too many of those around. But it's still a fairly significant historical relic."

"How can you talk about it like that?" I demanded. "Even if you don't believe it, this book changed the world."

"The ideas in it might have," he admitted. "But in the end, a book is only ink and paper. That's all that one is," he pointed, "Plus a few centuries of accumulated dust."

"It's not just ink and paper," I shot back, my voice rising. "Nothing is ever just ink and paper. You think we're animals? We're not, and this proves it. Animals can't pass knowledge down, they can't speak to each other from centuries in the past. Ink and paper aren't just ink and paper, they're a way to preserve your thoughts. Ink and paper are powerful."

"I'm glad you said that," Radisson cocked his head, "Because I've got something else to show you. More ink and paper."

He wandered away, into the unlit hallway leading to the rest of the apartment. I heard a door creak as I followed him, but no lights came on.

"Professor Radisson?" I called as I felt my way along the walls. "Where are you?"

"Straight ahead," came the response. "Just keep going."

The light from the living room was undetectable behind me now, and I was in complete darkness. My fingers brushed against the projection of a door frame, and I stumbled through. There was a flash of light as an incandescent bulb came on, the click of a switch behind me. I blinked, nearly blind, and then gasped.


	8. Chapter 8 - Diogenes-style

The room was barely bigger than a closet, the only furniture in it a mattress sitting on top of a box-spring. There were sheets and blankets, but no bed. A bare bulb dangled from the ceiling. But the spareness of the apparent bedroom wasn't the shocking part.

The walls were covered in sheets of lined paper, all proclaiming the same three words - God is dead. Some papers screamed it in chunky block letters, some whispered in all lower-case, some had the loopy airiness of female writing, and a few were scrawled in chicken-scratch nearly too incomprehensible to decipher. Every space was covered in some version of Radisson's favourite philosophical idea. Every space except one.

A clear spot in the wall, revealing dented, unpainted drywall, hovered at eye level above the head of the bed. In my bewilderment, it was the one thing I could focus on.

"Why is that space blank?" I asked.

Radisson let out a sinister chuckle. "It's where I plan on hanging yours," he replied.

I stepped forward, staring at the one space that didn't insult everything I stood for. "God's not dead," I reaffirmed.

"I'm glad you said that," Radisson said from behind me. "Because in this bedroom," he whispered in my ear, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, one hand wrapping around my upper arm, "I am God."

I whirled around to face him, defiant - and was met with a smug, self-assured smirk that told me my defiance was not only expected, but exciting. Radisson held up a small remote control in his hand and pressed a button. A pounding pulse, like a deafening heartbeat, filled the small room, making the thin drywall shudder. I jumped at the sound suddenly screaming into my ears.

"Don't worry," Radisson said in response to my distress. "The whole apartment is soundproofed. No one will hear."

You let me violate you, a voice crooned, surprisingly gentle, overtop a bubbling, humming counter-melody. I had heard some heavy rock music before, but this sounded like a machine-shop come to life.

Radisson tossed the remote control behind him, into the hallway that led back to the rest of the apartment - and the exit - before flicking the door, letting it creak almost shut behind him as he stepped forward. He edged forward, and I sidestepped, slipping past to sneak between him and the door.

"I, I really gotta go," I stammered. "I got school tomorrow, and this - I don't know what this is, and I just…"

The corners of Radisson's. mouth turned down. I'd expected him to put up a protest. Instead, he looked crestfallen.

Help me, a three part harmony implored, before a single voice sang, I broke apart my insides. Looking at my professor, with his cynical outlook, I wondered if this was how he felt. Help me, I got no soul to sell.

Everyone has a soul that can be saved. No matter what.

Like a magnet had been turned on, I rushed forward, throwing my arms around Professor Radisson. Our lips found each others', and we devoured each others' heat like we'd spent the last few weeks freezing. Somehow, my hand was suddenly on the back of Radisson's head, pushing him down into me, my fingers twisting through his hair, as if by holding tighter, I could press us together into one being. At the same time, I felt five tickling trails of sensation where one of Radisson's hands snuck under my Newsboys t-shirt to trace the contour of my spine. A shiver ran up through me, and I stood up straighter and taller, pushing my pelvis hard against him.

With a sudden need to feel my teacher and debate opponent's hands on my skin, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt with both hands and rolled it up over my head, separating my lips from Radisson's for only a moment, only as long as the fabric was between our faces, no longer. I cast the bothersome garment away as soon as I could, feeling the smooth silk of Radisson's tie against my chest, running down my sternum.

What I didn't feel was Radisson's fingers, as he bent his arms back to throw off his suit jacket and start to struggle out of his clothes. He stepped forward and I pushed back, pressing into him as hard as I could, but he kept us moving towards the bed. My calves hit the bare mattress, and I fell with a thump, lying sprawled in front of Radisson.

The loosened red tie went up over his head, and he started on the top buttons on his shirt, the throbbing beat still pounding away. "Come on," I moaned, craving the contact I'd never known I'd wanted, willing him to touch me again, to wrap himself around me.

"I always appreciate an eager pupil," Radisson grinned, undoing the last button and moving on to his belt, letting the shirt drape open.

A voice at the back of my mind told me I needed to stop. To get out of here. To get away from the temptation that should not have been a temptation. That voice was so easy to ignore. With Kara it had been a conscious choice to keep going, but now it was a conscious choice to stop. It was a choice that should have been easy, but, like the dilemma between climbing out of warm sheets or hitting the snooze button, it seemed impossible.

Why was that? Why was every nerve of my body aching to feel Professor Radisson? How had he caused this deep burning need in me to devour - and be devoured?

What had he done to me?

Radisson was stepping out of his pants, crawling up onto the bed, one knee on either side of my sprawled legs. His hand went to my crotch, barely brushing me with a teasing gesture. My hips thrust forward in a spasm I was powerless to stop, his experienced fingers controlling my movement as deftly as if he were pulling a string on a marionette.

"Very eager," he purred approvingly.

The gentle touch suddenly disappearing, Radisson whipped my zipper down, undoing my fly, before grabbing me by the waist with both hands and flipping me over beneath him. I didn't know what was happening until I found the mattress directly in front of my face, and then, just as quickly, ripped away as Radisson yanked me to my knees. A wall of heat, his chest, hit my bare back. I felt his lips on my ear, warm and wet, and then the quick nip of teeth. Arching my back, I tilted my head, giving him easier access, and was rewarded with an amused chuckle.

The heel of Radisson's hand scored its way down my abs, like I was dough to be kneaded, and into my jeans. The loosened pants fell, just a few inches, exposing my boxers. Exposing how I felt.

Despite that, or maybe because of it - or probably because of the feeling in my loins, the feeling being stoked and commanded by my Professor's hand - I pressed myself back in Radisson as hard as I could, willing him to enfold me in his arms, to cling to me as tightly as he could. As if he knew exactly what I wanted, his other hand wrapped around my chest, gripping one of my shoulders while his mouth found the other. Both on our knees, we sat straight up, entwined.

I swallowed hard, my throat letting out a low moan I had never before heard from myself. Radisson's hand rolled down my boxers. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps, and I shivered, but not in discomfort.

Behind me I felt probing, and then I gave way, sensation flooding into me, filling me, leaving no room for anything else, let alone conscious thought. Through half-lidded eyes, I stared at the empty space on the wall in front of me. Pleasure washed over me in waves, each one stronger than the last, pulsing in time with the music.

God's not dead, I thought.

You get me closer to God, the singer said.

"Oh, God," I moaned.

* * *

><p>To the anonymous reviewer who requested a little smut in their teen-rated God's Not Dead fanfic:<p>

I like your style! I hope you enjoyed.

Yours truly,

The Abyss that Gazes Also Into You


	9. Chapter 9

My eyes fluttered open. At the core of my being sat an exhaustion - not that I was weary or anything negative like that. But I was tired in a way that was happy and grateful and warm.

I also had to go to the bathroom.

Carefully, I picked up Radisson's arm from where it was slung across my waist, placing it next to my professor's chest. His hand curled up in response, and he shrank a little away from me in his sleep. Watching him curl up into himself, childishly defensive, I melted a little.

My feet touched the bare wood floor, and a shiver ran through me. The apartment was cold, so cold I was surprised I couldn't see my breath. I padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. In the dark I could see two closed doors. One of them had to be the bathroom. The other would probably be a closet, but at this point, I would take either. A closet might at least have a blanket or a sweater.

Not wanting to awaken Radisson, I turned the knob and opened the door slowly, as quietly as possible. I liked the idea of knowing he lay asleep in the other room.

I should have been uncomfortable, knowing what we'd just done. I should have been filled with disgust, for me and him. But I wasn't. What had happened between us felt good. It felt right. How could it feel so right if God didn't approve? Besides, God didn't intend for us to be perfect. He could forgive a few flaws, as long as I could recognize them.

The open door revealed a square of pure blackness. I fumbled for a light switch, flicking it on.

The blast of cold white light seared my eyes. Closet, not bathroom. Still, I wanted something to cover my bare chest, to keep me warm. But the only thing dangling from a hanger in the tiny closet was a suit made of clear plastic, with a hood in the back and a zipper up the front. Rubbing my arms for warmth, I crouched down to search the cardboard boxes lying on the floor of the closet.

The first box I opened was filled with nothing but paper. Essays and tests from previous classes, I guessed. Some of the writing was really bad, I reflected, more of a scrawl than anything else. Flipping through, I resolved to be a little more careful in the future, to make the lives of my professors and teaching assistants a little easier. I certainly didn't need examples of what not to do to know that I shouldn't turn in anything spattered with dark brown stains.

These couldn't be philosophy essays though. Or at least, not good ones. I wasn't reading closely, but a few contained wild pleas for help. _Had Radisson taught a creative writing course in the past?_ I wondered. With a shrug, I closed that box and moved to the one underneath, dragging it across the floor to lie next to my knees before lifting the lid.

My entire world disappeared in order to focus on the contents of the box.

Pictures. So many pictures. Boys and girls, all my age, all slim and naked like me, lying on the bare mattress in the other room. All asleep.

None of them could have known their pictures were being taken. I felt like I was prying, violating them. But then, these were all in Radisson's closet. He was the one who had done the original violating. I hoped he'd at least asked beforehand whether he could take the pictures. Casting a wary glance back at the bedroom, I hoped he hadn't taken any pictures of me.

I was still sitting on the floor going through his closet though. There was no way to ask him about the pictures, or the people in them, not without revealing what I was doing. He couldn't still be seeing them - could he? Was that why he had this apartment?

As I pored over the photos, the images changed, morphing like an obscene flipbook. It started with handcuffs and zip ties, then there were slashes of red and ribbons of dark membranes I never wanted to see.

Radisson couldn't have taken these. How would he have these photos? He wasn't in any of them, so there was nothing really linking him to them, I told myself. It was clearly the same bedroom - they had to have been left by the apartment's previous owner, or some sort of sick joke.

"It's a shame you had to go snooping," Radisson's voice chided me from the bedroom door. 'But maybe it's my fault. Normally I'm not compelled to fall asleep with my… Pupils."

I jumped, practically throwing the photos from my hand as I scuttled back from the evil box. My feet feeling like foreign objects, I struggled to stand. "Wh-what are - Why do you -" I stammered. "What the heck are these?"

"Really?" Radisson cocked his head, stepping forward deliberately. I noticed he was dressed - how long had he known I was awake? "You see that and you still can't bring yourself to swear?" He shook his head and chuckled. "You really are pure, aren't you?"

I didn't feel pure. Not anymore. But I wasn't concerned with myself right now. "Who are all those people? In the pictures? Are they - " I left the question unfinished, hanging in the air between us.

"What do you think?"

"Oh, God," I gasped, finally grasping what was going on. "Oh, Jesus, no."

"I asked them all," Radisson continued conversationally, all the time edging toward me, backing me up against the wall, "Whether they thought they were going to Heaven, and whether Heaven was better than life on Earth. And what did you think they said?" he asked, slipping back into the role of teacher, quizzing me. "Well?"

"They should've said," I gulped, my lungs burning even as I took rapid breaths, "They should've said that Jesus accepts everyone who accepts Him as their Lord and Saviour."

Radisson's grin widened. "And?" he prompted.

"And this life doesn't compare to the joy you experience from being close to God."

"That's pretty much what they said," Radisson nodded. "So, that leaves us with an interesting philosophical conundrum. Do you think I did them a favour?"

"What?"

"Well, they seemed pretty sure of their chances of getting past Saint Peter. And now they don't have to worry about their crushing student loan debts, so there's that."

"Is this a joke?" I asked. "Did you make those pictures just to give me some philosophy problem that you think will stump me?"

"It's not a joke."

"Then this is a nightmare, or, or, or something, I don't know. This can't be happening."

"This is happening," Radisson told me sternly. "Accept it. And answer my question."

"Or what? Are you gonna kill me if I give the wrong answer?" I shoved Radisson back, finding anger within me that I didn't know I was capable of. All this - every time we'd spoken outside of class, the connection I'd felt with Radisson, the need for his touch - it had all been a lie, just so he could feel like he'd won. Just so he could have me at his mercy and pretend that made him right. "Are you doing this to, what? To hear me say it? God's still not dead, and it doesn't matter if I say it, because that's never gonna change."

Radisson gave a low, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver up my spine. For a fraction of a second I wasn't sure if I enjoyed the feeling. "You really are so pure. But say the words, and I'll leave. You can atone for it later."

I narrowed my eyes. "No."

"It's just three words," Radisson growled. "And I thought God forgives all?"

"I'm not saying it."

Something changed in Radisson's posture, something quick and imperceptible - maybe he'd tensed, maybe a fold had altered itself in his suit. Whatever it was, something in my brain told me, _Run_. I threw myself to my right, away from the bedroom, just as Radisson lunged.

I fell to the floor, clumsy and off-kilter. Radisson let out that low, mocking chuckle I knew so well.

"Someone's jumpy," he commented.

Scrambling to my feet, I fled to the living room. The door was just a few feet to my right. My escape was right there.

At least, I thought it was, until I tried the knob. Locked. And not with a dead-bolt or a chain or any of the standard locks you see in an apartment. There was a keyhole here for a key I didn't have, set in thick shiny metal, surrounded by the grimy paint of the door. I gave the door another shake out of sheer desperation, considering an attempt to break it down. What else could I do?

"Oh dear," Radisson tut-tutted from behind me. "What now?"

Wild-eyed, I whipped my gaze back to the professor, asking myself the same question. How else could I get out of the apartment? How could I defend myself? Behind Radisson was the Gutenberg Bible - not of much use. Behind that was the kitchen.

Feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life, I leapt onto the garage sale sofa, racing across it, ignoring the spring that poked my foot. I hopped off on the other side, sailing into the kitchen, slapping my hand into the wall to flick the light on. Darkness was Radisson's ally, not mine.

In the light, it only took me a second to locate a set of knives. I grabbed the biggest handle and yanked it out of the holder, turning to brandish it in front of me.

Radisson glared at me from the kitchen doorway. His hair, mussed and matted, nearly obscured his right eye. Now that I knew what he was, he looked truly deranged.

"It really was a shame that you had to snoop," he chided again. "As I said, I don't normally sleep with my… Well, let's just say I haven't been planning to kill you for quite some time. Who knows?" he shrugged, edging forward as if I wasn't pointing a blade at him. "Maybe you would've been the one to finally change my mind."

"Stay back," I warned him, cutting the air a few more times with the weapon in punctuation. "Don't come any closer."

"No," he sighed. "I suppose not. A shame." Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room. After a second, I heard the lock click and the door swing open and then fall shut with a heavy thud.

I held the knife out in front of me like a talisman and watched the kitchen doorway for a very long time. And then I did what I had to do before I called 911.


	10. Epilogue

"You can't just barge in here."

"What happened? Let me through."

"Miss, we are conducting an investigation - "

"He's my boyfriend!" Kara's voice broke through the phalanx of uniformed cops at the door of the hospital room just before she did. "Josh?" she cried as a police officer held her back. "Josh, are you alright?"

"You can let her in," the detective who'd interviewed me, Detective Braddock, commented almost offhandedly.

Barely noticing as she was released, Kara raced to the side of my bed, kneeling next to me, clasping my hand. "Josh, what happened?" she pleaded. "I heard Radisson attacked you."

"Yeah, he, uh," I shrank back a little at the thought of lying to Kara - not to mention the police - "He drugged me and brought me to this apartment."

"Speaking of, Nurse?" Detective Braddock snapped his fingers to get the attention of a woman in scrubs walking by, as if he was calling over a waiter. "Can we get a blood test over here?"

The nurse nodded, smiling tightly. "Right away."

I'd expected that. It surprised me, how clear everything had become once Radisson had revealed his true colours. I knew exactly what I'd have to do. Radisson had had drugs at his disposal, and I figured I only needed a little. They would have just been wearing off when I called 911, after all. I must have been miscalculating the effects though, because by the time EMS had shown up, I felt like I needed them.

My ability to lie had scared me a little, but it was all for the greater good. I didn't see why my life had to be ruined because Radisson had tricked me.

"What is this? What's going on?" This voice belonged to a slender middle-aged man who was confronting the officers just outside the room. Next to him was another man, one who watched the proceedings with a calculating eye.

"My client has a vested interest in these investigations," he explained firmly.

"Who the hell are you?" Detective Braddock called to them.

"I'm, uh, I'm Dean Stanfield," the first man said, unsteadily stepping forward through the cops like it was a thick patch of brambles. The man beside him slipped through like he'd done so a million times. Dean Stanfield held out his hand. "What's going on here, officer, or, uh, detective, uh..."

"Detective Braddock," the detective gruffly introduced himself. "And what we got here is one of your professors attacking a student."

"Oh, uh - "

"As the head of the University's legal team," the other man stepped forward, "Let me just say that you have our full and complete cooperation in any investigation."

"I'm glad you said that," the detective's eyes narrowed, "Because this is gonna be a long investigation. There's enough evidence at that crime scene to prove that your Professor Radisson was a serial killer."

Both Dean Stanfield and his lawyer gasped. "I should have known," Stanfield said. "He was, after all," both the dean and the detective looked directly into the camera, completely shattering the fourth wall, "An atheist."

As the three men kept talking, hashing out details and passing contact information back and forth, Kara enveloped my hand in hers. I didn't really want to feel anyone's touch right now, but Kara's should have been comforting. Maybe her warmth would make me go back to feeling normal soon.

"Don't worry, Josh," she told me, her blue eyes wide. "I'm here now. Everything is going to be okay."

* * *

><p>Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I am so over this terrible, terrible movie, and I hate to leave a story unfinished, so I had to cap it somehow. But hey, at least we all got to enjoy a passable sex scene a few chapters ago! If you wanna tell me off (or if you actually enjoyed it!) let me know via review, or you can find me on twitter under the handle SeaLenz. Thanks for reading my mind drippings :P<p> 


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